“I don’t know when he went out,” said all those who had been in the dining-room; but there spoke up a voice, quite proud of having something to tell among the others—“I saw Hal go out, and Bessie come up directly.” “You, Johnnie! How was that?” “Miss Fosbrook made me dine in the nursery, Papa, because Hal and I had been riding on the new iron gate, to see if the telegraph would come in while the others were at church; and then Hal ran away with the Grevilles, and I couldn’t get down till Sam came and helped me; and so Miss Fosbrook made me dine in the nursery; and when I had done, I went and sat upon the top of the garret stairs, to watch when they came out from dinner, and ask if I might come down again.” “And what did you see, Johnnie?” “First, I saw a wasp,” said Johnnie. “Never mind the wasp. Did you see when Henry went out?” “I saw him come in first,” said John, “and Miss Fosbrook order him up and say she would send him his dinner, and come and speak to him presently. So I watched to catch her when she was coming up to him, and I saw Mary bring him up some mince veal, and the last bit of the gooseberry pie; and then, very soon, he bolted right downstairs. I didn’t think he could have had time to eat the pie; and I was going to see if there was a bit left, when I saw Bessie coming up, and I whipped up again.” “Then nobody went into the room between Henry and Bessie?” “No; there wasn’t any time.” The whole room was quite silent. There was no sound but a quick short breathing from the Captain: but he had rested his brow upon his hand, and his face could not be seen. It was as if something terrible had flashed upon him, and he was struggling with the first shock, and striving to deal with it. If they had seen him in a tempest, with his ship driving to pieces on a rock, he would not have been thus shaken and dismayed. However, by the time he looked up again, he had brought his face back to its resolute firmness, and he spoke in a clear, stern, startling voice, that made all the children quake, and some catch hold of each other’s hands: “Henry! tell me what you have done with your theft!” Miserable Henry! He did not try to deny it any longer; but burst out into a loud sobbing cry, “O Papa! Papa! I meant to have put it back again! I couldn’t help it!” “Tell me what you have done with it!” repeated the Captain. “I—I paid it to Farmer Grice; I was obliged; and I thought I could have put it back again; and some of it was my own!” “Fivepence-farthing!” cried David. “You thief, you!” The child’s fists were clenched, and his young face all one scowl of passion, quite shocking to see. His father put him aside, and said, “Hush, David! no names.—Now, Henry, what do you say to your sister for your false accusation, which has thrown your own shame on her?”